The Seduction (41 page)

She lowered her lashes and blushed, but she came willingly, returning his kiss with a passion that inflamed his senses. He slid his free hand under the sheets, exploring her body as his tongue explored her mouth. He ran his fingers over her breasts, over the satin skin of her tummy, to slide between her thighs. He brushed his fingers lightly over her and felt how ready she was.

He withdrew his hand and broke the kiss. Ignoring her tiny, fluttering protest, he pulled aside the sheets that covered them. "Come here, wife," he murmured and pulled her on top of him so that she sat astride his hips. He reached between them, guiding himself to her opening, tormenting himself with the erotic feel of her damp warmth against the tip of his penis.

The sight of her, with her breasts bare to his gaze, excited him like nothing ever had before, and he realized it was what he wanted to see every morning of his life. "No separate bedrooms," he promised again and thrust upward, entering her.

Margaret closed her eyes, and she tilted her head back with a raw, startled cry. Remembering her pain of last night, he hesitated. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No, no," she managed between tiny, panting breaths. She moved awkwardly above him, inexperienced, and he grasped her hips in his hands to guide her.

Just as he thought he could stand the sweet torture no longer, he felt her tighten convulsively around him. He surged upward, as deeply inside her as he could be, and climaxed in a rush that left him dizzy.

She snuggled against him, her cheek rubbing his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her. Trevor caressed the silky skin of her back and sank into a languorous aftermath, content to just lie here and hold her.

This was something he'd never experienced with a woman before, this sated peace.

He closed his eyes and breathed in rhythm with her, vulnerable and relaxed. Vague memories of other women passed through his mind, women he'd been perfectly glad to leave when it was over, women who could never keep him long enough to make demands on him, women who, no matter how skilled at love- making they might be, could never persuade him to stay long enough for this.

But Maggie was different. Maggie was his wife. Until this moment, he hadn't realized what that would mean. The intimacy of it should have alarmed him, but he found that it did not. Nor did it seem to alarm her, despite her apprehensions of last night. She seemed perfectly happy to lie here with him and laze the entire day away. She was so still, in fact, he wondered wryly if she had fallen asleep.

But then, to his surprise, she stirred and lifted her head. She did not meet his eyes, but instead kept her gaze lowered, staring down at his chest. He watched as a tiny, mysterious smile curved the corners of her lips.

That smile intrigued him. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

Without raising her eyes, she touched him, brushing her fingers across the hair of his chest in a tentative caress. "I think, my lord," she said shyly, "that I shall like being married."

Trevor laughed, a lusty laugh of utter contentment, and, to his own amazement, he realized that he was going to like it, too. He was going to like it very much indeed.

Henry signed his name to the bank draft with a flourish and handed it to Trevor across the desk. "That ought to enable you to begin refurbishing Ashton Park. Have you decided on what investments interest you?"

Trevor took the draft without looking at it, folded it, and put it in the pocket of his jacket. "I have several in mind. The first would be linen mills. There are none around Waverly. The closest is at
Sittingbourne
, about twenty miles distant. I have a great deal of land that is fallow at the moment, but which could easily be planted in flax. The climate is suitable. In addition to the fiber to make linen, flax would also provide linseed oil, thereby giving us two harvests out of one crop. I think we would gain a substantial return on such an investment."

Henry nodded and shot him a shrewd glance across the desk. "Not to mention the benefits it would provide for the village of Waverly."

"The prosperity of a village depends largely on the prosperity of its closest estates. As the earl, I cannot ignore my responsibility to the people of Waverly. Their livelihood depends on me, and their needs have been ignored for far too long. But I would not suggest it unless I felt we could make a reasonable profit."

"I agree with you. It is a sound idea. I know several excellent engineering firms in London who can design the mill for us. I take it you have a site on Ashton lands in mind."

"Of course. I also think it would be advisable for me to meet with your London accountants. They can draw up some preliminary estimates of cost and profit projections."

Henry nodded. "You said you had some other possibilities?"

"One in particular that I think would be highly lucrative, but it would also be very risky."

"The most lucrative possibilities always entail the greatest risk. What is your idea?"

"Electrical lighting."

"You don't think electricity is a passing fancy?"

"No, I don't. Do you?"

Henry shook his head. "No. In fact, electricity may very well prove to be the most important development of this century. But, assuming we are right, what is your idea?"

"There are many peers in our general acquaintance who have married American heiresses, and who, like myself, are trying to rebuild their estates. Their wives, of course, are accustomed to modern conveniences, and I'm sure they are finding that their homes on this side of the Atlantic provide little in the way of such amenities. Most English country houses are dark and dreary enough to depress anyone. I know a lot of peers would shudder at the thought of electrical lighting in their ancestral homes, but for domestic tranquility, a man will make many sacrifices."

"Especially when he has the money to do so," Henry added dryly. He considered the possibilities, but, after a moment, he reluctantly shook his head. "Between us, I'm sure we have enough contacts to make such a venture quite profitable. But electricity is such a new industry, I know of very few men involved in it. How do you propose to gain the expertise you need?"

Instead of answering that question directly, Trevor asked, "Are you acquainted with Sir William Crandon?"

"If I'm not mistaken, he is a baronet. But more to your point, I think, he is a leading authority on electrical engineering."

"Precisely. His knowledge would be of great use to us."

"I'm sure it would. But I understand he's one of your more snobbish peers, and has been given offers of employment before. I doubt I could persuade him to engage in such a venture, especially since I have no connection whatsoever with the man."

Trevor smiled. "I do. He's an old friend of mine. We did some very profitable business in Thebes before he gained his title and returned to England. I think he could be persuaded to lend his expertise to this venture. For the right salary, of course. Although it has not yet been made public, I learned yesterday from Lord Seton—who is a cousin of his by marriage—that Crandon is about to be served by his creditors with a petition for bankruptcy."

Henry chuckled. "I knew I was right about you, Ashton. You have a talent for making the most of what you've got, and I think you were born to be an entrepreneur. Are you sure there isn't some Yankee blood in your background?"

Trevor smiled, thinking that there very well could be, given the notorious profligacy of his family tree. If there was, it was all on the wrong side of the blankets, and he refrained from saying so. Instead, he began enumerating other ideas for how they might make money off ventures in electricity, and Henry added a few ideas of his own. The two men were in the midst of working out how they might install electrical lighting systems for entire cities when a knock on the study door interrupted their discussion. The door opened, and Margaret peeped in.

Henry frowned in exasperation. "
Thunderation
, Maggie, you know the rules. Unless the house is burning down, I will not be bothered when I'm talking business!"

She gave him a smile as she entered the study. "Since you are discussing business with my husband, I didn't think the rule applied. Especially the morning after the wedding."

His belligerence faded immediately at that gentle reminder, and it amused Trevor a great deal to see how such a tough and hardheaded man as Henry Van Alden could be so easily manipulated by his own daughter.

Henry coughed, looking apologetic. "Well, yes," he said gruffly, "I guess you have a point. Sorry, honey."

"That's quite all right, Papa. I know how wrapped up you get in business." She smiled at Trevor. "He'll keep you in here all day," she warned.

"He can't," Trevor answered and rose to his feet. "I have an appointment with my solicitors in"—he pulled out his pocket watch—"half an hour. I'll be back by mid-afternoon."

She sighed, looking up at him with regret. "Then you shall not see me, I'm afraid. Since you and I are leaving for Kent early tomorrow, Cornelia and I are using this opportunity to do some shopping. After that, we are going to Lady
Longford's
for tea."

"I'm sorry we won't have time for a honeymoon, but I must get home."

"I understand," she answered. "We'll do it some other time."

"As for today, perhaps we can find an hour or so to fence before dinner." He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. "Fencing with you is proving to be a most interesting exercise," he added in a whisper. "One I would like to repeat as often as possible."

"I, too," she whispered back, blushing at the reminder of the previous night.

Although he had not heard what they said, Henry could not help but perceive the blush in her cheeks, and he could make a pretty good guess as to the reason for it. He smiled at her as Trevor left the room, delighted by how well everything had turned out. "Tell me, how does married life suit you so far, Maggie, my girl?"

She walked to his chair and settled herself comfortably on one corner of his desk. "Very well, Papa," she admitted happily. "And I can see from the smug smile on your face that you are about to say I told you so."

He reached up to chuck her under the chin. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said mildly, but he was thinking it. The satisfaction he felt did not stem from being right about marriage, but from being right about Trevor. Margaret was truly in love with the man, it was as plain as day. And that notion made Henry Van Alden a very happy man.

Henry was not the only one who was happy. Margaret was quite content herself, a fact Cornelia commented on as they strolled through the textiles department at
Harrod's
.

"Maggie, you're positively glowing. This is quite a change from yesterday."

She laughed and shot her cousin a mischievous glance over the colorful bolts of chintz between them. "You're a married woman, Cornelia. Surely you know the cause."